


Idiots in Love

by cycling_lane



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flatmates, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Margaery the Matchmaker, Oral Sex, Smut, a little bit of flutt, meaning fluff and smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cycling_lane/pseuds/cycling_lane
Summary: When Jon finds out that none of Sansa’s former boyfriends have, ahem…treated her right, he vows to make it up to her. He might also ruin her for any future man while he’s at it.Nothing wrong with that.Probably not workplace-appropriate (oops!)





	Idiots in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on Tumblr, as part of JonxSansaFanFiction Twelve Days of Shipping. Day 5: Roommate or Flatmate AU. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“This is going nowhere.”

“What?”

“Your relationship with Harry Hardyng, of course,” Margaery says, mere seconds after Sansa has let her boyfriend out. She is nursing a hangover on their sofa, dressed from head to toe in cashmere loungewear, her blonde curls artfully tousled. “You have  _got_  to break it off.”

Sansa rolls her eyes. “I will do no such thing.”

“Sans, he has slept over three times. Not once have I heard you do so much as squeal.”

The redhead feels her face heat up, suddenly very aware of their third flatmate, the ever-secretive and moody Jon Snow, who is currently frying eggs in the kitchen.

“Maybe I’m quiet in bed,” she hisses, softly enough that he won’t hear. 

Margaery doesn’t share her reservations. When she replies, her voice is loud and frivolous, and echoes throughout the entire flat. “Yeah, right. My guess is that the boy isn’t good with his tongue.”

A loud crash sounds from the kitchen, followed by a muffled curse. 

“Oh my god!” The Tyrell-heiress shrieks, when Sansa fails to meet her eye. “He has never-”

“Margaery…”

“-given you oral!”

“ _Shite_!” Jon exclaims in the kitchen, followed by more ruckus. 

Sansa wants to walk over and make sure that he hasn’t broken anything ( _Poor Jon_ , she thinks.  _At times like this, he always looks completely baffled, as if even he can’t remember how he wound up sharing a flat with two girls -and honestly, I can’t blame him_ ), but Margaery has graver concerns. 

“That makes it final,” she concludes. “Harry Hardyng is an ass. If you won’t dump him, I will. I mean, the bastard can’t even do the decent thing-”

Jon comes into the living room then, the tips of his ears bright red, and disposes a heaping plate of eggs and bacon in front of Margaery. 

“There you go,” he says, his voice even rougher than usual. “The ultimate Hangover Breakfast of Champions.”

Before Sansa can mention the gluten-free/no-dairy/superfood diet that her best friend is supposed the be on, the blonde speaks up again. “Jon, don’t you think it’s an absolute travesty?”

“ _Margaery_!”

“I, uh… I don’t-” The redness in the tip of Jon’s ears rapidly spreads down his neck. 

“Because you should,” Margaery tells him earnestly, digging into her food. “You look like a man who likes to feast on the occasional vadge.” 

“I- I…”

Sansa leaves the room before he can reply. 

+

Harry Hardyng does not enjoy ‘occasional vadge feasting’. 

It didn’t bother Sansa before, but it does know. When she finally gathers the courage to bring it up, her boyfriend just shrugs. 

“It smells funny,” he tells her. “Tastes odd, too. But that’s not the end of the world, is it? I mean, you can still go down on me.”

She  _does_  dump him then. 

+

“He has really never, uh-”

“No.”

“And you didn’t mind?” Jon’s cheeks must be as red as her hair when he asks. It is laundry day, a couple of weeks later, and they are folding their underwear on opposite sides of the kitchen table. 

Sansa is suddenly very aware of the purple lace in her hands. “Not really. I didn’t know what I was missing, though. Maybe that helped?”

The second those words leave her mouth, she regrets them. Especially when Jon’s head snaps up and he stares at her, dark eyes wide and incredulous. 

 _He is your brother’s best friend_ , she berates herself.  _You have been in love with him for months. And yet you tell him_ this _?_

“You mean that no man has ever…”

“Nuh-uh.”

“ _Never_?”

Her heart is beating uncomfortably fast. “Don’t tell Margaery.”

+

Margaery regards the sudden tension between her two roommates with interest. She has been trying to get them together for the past two years, ever since Jon moved in ‘temporarily’.

(Because Ygritte had kicked him out, the poor sod. Margaery knew from the beginning that he wouldn’t leave them ‘ _as soon as possible, once I’m back on my feet_ ’. Oh, no. Jon fell in love with Sansa the very first morning, when she walked out of her bedroom with a bare face, tiny pajamas and fizzy hair. He wasn’t going anywhere.)

Out of every match-making attempt, however, the blonde never expected this one to work. Her Harry Holding/ oral sex/ ‘vadge feasting’ strategy had been more of a joke.

A very successful joke, she has to admit now. 

She walks in one night to find Jon and Sansa cuddled together on the sofa, asleep, with a movie playing on the background. When the sound of her heels on the hardwood floor wakes them up, they blush and disentangle their limbs, awkwardly rushing back to their respective bedrooms. 

For days after, the tension between them is almost unbearable. Still, Margaery just smiles and shakes her head. 

 _Idiots in love._   

+

Just when Sansa starts to think that she and Jon are going nowhere, and that her vibrator will soon die of complete and utter exhaustion, something happens. 

He stalks up to her one night, pressing her backwards until she is up against the wall, and cages her in with his arms. His chest heaves, his face is determined. 

“What are you doing?” She squeaks. 

He studies her face carefully -and although she doesn’t know exactly what he sees, it is enough to make his pupils widen. 

“I am showing you how good I am with my tongue.” 

If those words weren’t enough to make her whimper, the kiss that follows definitely is. 

+

He kisses her expertly, with a slow, strong rhythm, and she can’t help but completely surrender. His chest is warm against hers. His lips are demanding, but soft. When he tears them away from her mouth and kisses her jawline, she moans. And when his teeth graze an unfamiliar spot behind her right ear, her legs turn to jelly. 

“That’s-  _Ah_.”

“Good?” Jon asks.

“So good.”

He barely comes up for air after that, kissing her entire body. His hands are cherishing and sure as he undresses her, the calluses on his fingers rough as they whisper against her soft skin. 

It doesn’t take Sansa long to realise that this isn’t sex. This isn’t even love-making. 

He is  _worshipping_  her. 

After that, other realisations quickly follow. He is going to put his face… _down there_. He is going to see her, completely exposed, where no man has ever seen her before. 

 _It smells funny_ , Harry’s voice echoes through her head.  _Tastes odd, too._

She stiffens, suddenly nervous. 

Jon notices immediately, of course, and pulls away. His face almost wrecks her. His eyes are dark and hot with desire, his lips red and swollen. A faint flush warms his face, even though his eyebrows are currently pinched together in worry. 

“What is it?” He demands. 

Sansa twitches, not sure if she wants to pull away or cuddle closer. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she manages, eventually. “I know men never actually want to.”

“They do.  _I_  do.”

“But-”

“Sansa,” he says earnestly, before brushing a stand of hair out of her eyes. His gaze is reassuring, one hundred percent honest. “I want to do this more than anything. Trust me.”

Trust him. 

She can do that, she decides. She can trust Jon. 

He presses a kiss against her hip bone. “Tell me what feels good,” is the last thing he tells her, and then he dives in. 

+

Turns out, she can’t really tell him. Her mouth is far too occupied with other things, such as gasping and moaning and ‘Oh God’-ing. Thankfully, Jon is clever. He finds out what she likes and sticks to it, rapidly building her up to a crescendo. 

Sansa melts into the mattress, feels sparks of electricity shoot through her entire body. Her spine bows. Her fingers dig into the firm muscles of his shoulders, clutch at his hair. 

After she has peaked once, she thinks that is it -that he will come up, take care of his own pleasure next. But he doesn’t. He keeps going. 

He keeps going for a long time. 

+

The next morning, Margaery offers them fresh croissants and a blinding smile. 

“Didn’t you say you were quiet in bed?” She asks cheekily, as she takes in Sansa’s sex-tousled hair and radiant skin.

The redhead just beams. “Guess I never had proper sex before.”

Jon turns bright red, but the blonde isn’t fooled. He looks far too pleased with himself. Far too happy. When Sansa takes a sip from his coffee and shushes his half-hearted protests with a simple kiss, Margaery practically hears the wedding bells in Jon Snow’s ears.

_Idiots in love, indeed._

**Author's Note:**

> Leave some love here, or find me on [tumblr](https://cycling-lane.tumblr.com) if that is your kind of thing. 
> 
> Have a lovely day!
> 
> -A


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